It had to be a dream.

A dream.

Not a nightmare.

A dream.

He hadn't slept soundly or well in years.

He'd forgotten what dreams even were. Taking the Mark had sucked any hope of obtaining his dreams out of him.

He hadn't felt … warm or content in even longer.

He had long ago stopped giving into the urge to satisfy his morning erections while showering. He wasn't a eunuch, but he just had no … desire or drive. He'd never been ruled by such things anyway, even as a hormonal teenage boy.

This was a different feeling. Arousal, yes, but on a level different than his body merely wanting release. It extended beyond his pubic area, too. It was as if it was wrapped up, attached to, the warmth surrounding him.

It was the third, or maybe the fourth, night when he realized there was a reason for the feelings. For the warmth. For the dreams.

He woke in the middle of the night, needing to use the restroom. It was the first time he tried sleeping without the aid of a sleeping draught so the disruption in sleep wasn't unexpected. He didn't want to get addicted, and the pain was now … tolerable. He'd certainly survived worse. He hoped surviving worse was behind him.

He thought he was hallucinating when he saw a lynx in his bedroom, curled up obviously very contentedly in the space next to where he usually slept.

She (and it was a she) was not sleeping, but instead was busy giving herself a bath. He'd never seen a lynx in person to realize how … large their paws truly were. Their pictures really didn't do them justice.

Her purrs were the only thing that assured him he wasn't still asleep, or hallucinating. This was no housecat, and he couldn't have made up the sound of her purr on his own. He stared, trying to figure out how she'd gotten here. This was one of the first nights Poppy hadn't seen him before he went to bed, so she hadn't followed the healer in.

She didn't seem threatening.

"Did Minerva send you?" he asked. He'd never seen a lynx around Hogwarts, and the shake of her head told him no, this wasn't Minerva's doing. Though he wouldn't put it past the acting headmistress. She hadn't been … coy about trying to coax him back to Hogwarts. Minerva might think a witch might sway him to accept. Honestly, Severus wasn't entirely sure that way of thinking was incorrect. Who knew without the shadow of Lily holding him back any longer?

That was one of the first things waking up from his coma after the final battle he'd been … delighted about. Delighted was not the correct word, but it was close. He felt as if an albatross had been removed from him. He was free. Free of the Dark Lord. Free of servitude. Free of Lily. Free of his past.

From this point forward, he could do and be anything he wanted.

"You are a witch, though, yes?" he asked. There weren't many lynxes in Cokeworth, so he presumed she was a witch in her animagus form.

She gave a sleepy yawn, almost as if she might be bored. That made him chuckle. This was accompanied by a meow and nod, a stretching of one of those large front paws and extending her claws before retracting them again. Thank Merlin she was … playing.

"You're not here to finish what Nagini started then?"

Another shake of her head. This was followed by a licking of a paw, eyes on him the entire time.

Too trusting perhaps. Or just tired. Or just thought it would be ironic if he got taken out by a lynx in his bedroom versus all the other possibilities that should have ended in his demise over the years.

Regardless of the why, of him doing something illogical and potentially dangerous, he returned to his bed. He rested his hand over her fur, giving a soft exhale at the feel of her. She was warm and soft. Dare he think it, comforting. The sound of her purring grew louder as he drifted back to sleep. Soon, he heard nothing more.

She was gone in the morning. Not unexpected exactly, but he had sort of hoped she would still be here.

This went on for weeks.

He couldn't say he … minded necessarily. It was the type of company that was perhaps good for him. He wasn't alone, as Minerva and Poppy feared. He wasn't with anyone who would pepper him full of questions, though, either.

He was in no mood to talk to anyone, but he was curious who his nightly visitor was. And what sorcery she was doing that enabled him to sleep soundly.

†††††

"What do you mean she's missing," Severus asked Poppy when she was visiting him to perform her weekly examination of his vitals and overall recovery process. Poppy assured him it was a miracle. He gave up believing in miracles long ago, but if the healer wanted to believe it was so. Well, he'd let her hold onto her notion of such things.

"Is there another meaning for the word?"

He scowled at the healer with a roll of his eyes. He deserved that, he supposed.

"Mr. Potter doesn't know where she is?"

"No, and he's very concerned."

"Explain," he said simply.

"No one's seen her since the last night of the war."

He squinted, looking out the kitchen window. That was a long time for someone, one of those three anyway, to be gone without a word to one or the other of them. He could see getting away, but to not talk to her best friends. That was odd. Even he knew that.

"And it is confirmed she made it out alive?"

"Yes," Poppy said, clutching her hands together as if she didn't even want to entertain the idea that Miss Granger hadn't survived.

More silence as he thought about it.

Maybe she'd had enough and left?

He didn't see that happening. If she stayed through the war, he assumed she was going to be part of the magical community for the long haul. And that the magical world would be better for it.

"Has she gone to Australia? Minerva mentioned to me what she'd done to her parents. Perhaps she's gone to try to return their memories."

"Possible, but it's been six weeks," she said. "And they have owls in Australia."

Valid point. Forget the magical world as a whole, but it seemed odd she'd keep Harry Potter wondering.

"And Mr. Weasley…"

Poppy's lips thinned at that. "It hasn't seemed to phase him. He doesn't seem to be waiting for her anyway."

Well, that was surprising. And yet, maybe not. The youngest male Weasley wasn't the most loyal person when the chips were down. (Yes, he knew he likely wasn't one to judge.) The rifts between the three usually were due to something he'd done or said. Or assumed. At least from what he gleaned. Word of mouth wasn't always accurate. Not to say Potter or Granger were perfect.

Far from it.

"I presume they had a spat of some sort. He seems properly chagrined that she has gone missing, but not apologetic for the spat or that he might have been the cause of her leaving."

Poppy assumed it was his fault, it seemed. Truthfully, Severus would, too.

Why had it taken the healer this long to tell him the witch was missing? It wasn't as if he could've done anything about it from his sick bed. Still, that seemed a pretty key piece of information to withhold from him. He couldn't recall seeing anything mentioned in the copies of the Daily Prophet he had read.

"No doubt she'll return when she's ready. It was a lot to take in, even for someone as strong as she is."

"Severus," Poppy said.

"If you tell anyone else I said that, I will deny it."

The old healer gave a soft laugh. Her physical exam done, they sat together at his kitchen table for tea while she went through the … psychological. Questions. Prodding. Ensuring he wasn't going to off himself for whatever reason after her efforts to ensure he survived. He imagined this part of her routine was Albus' doing, wanting to ensure Severus was mentally well.

"And you're not having any nightmares?"

"No," he said, leaving out the part of his nightly visitor. Of course he had nightmares. She would too if she had the memories in her head he did. He wouldn't tell Poppy if he was having nightmares anyway, and the witch knew it. He would be more surprised if there weren't nightmares. (She would, too, for that matter. She was no fool.)

She filled him in on the goings on at Hogwarts, that the comings and goings of everyone come September would be limited so that reparations could be made. Severus scowled. Parts of him hated the school where other parts of him loved it. At any given point in the day it was a toss up as to whether hate or love was the most prevalent emotion. It had been home. It had also been home to torment that he assumed he'd escape being on the receiving end of when he left this home for the castle.

He didn't like the idea of something so rich in history and knowledge being destroyed, though. Centuries.

"Did you get a cat?" Poppy asked.

"No," he said with a frown.

She brushed something off of the shoulder of his black T-shirt. He looked at her hand, realizing she had plucked off a few tufts of the yellowish brown fur that belonged to his nighttime companion.

He merely shrugged. He, in fact, did not own a cat.

"Maybe Minerva came by in her tabby form to visit me."

Likely not. The fur did not match Minerva's coloring. And Poppy knew that.

Eventually, the witch left and he went on with his day. She hadn't asked him about his plans, or if he was going to return to Hogwarts. Minerva had told him either position would be available to him: professor or headmaster. He was pretty sure he wanted neither. He hadn't said no yet. Just in case.

Exercises. Going through things. Puttering. Weeding. A garden that had been unattended for more than just one summer. Time to think of what he wanted to do with the space.

With the life that he was free to live now. The homes on either side of his were empty. It wouldn't be too farfetched to buy the land and use it to grow herbs and ingredients needed to brew. The only remaining follower who knew where his home was was Narcissa Malfoy. The Minister for Magic had ensured her memories were … altered so those memories were gone. Once Poppy's visits were no longer needed, a fidelius charm would be placed over his property.

The lynx showed up early this night. Before dinner even. He'd stopped trying to figure out how she'd gained access to his home to begin with. He wasn't letting her in. His wards were intact, that was all he really needed to know. Should he have been more concerned? Mayhaps, but she could have easily killed him in his sleep the past few weeks. So he took that as a sign.

She sat on the kitchen floor while he prepared and ate dinner. She ate rather ravenously when he set a plate for her on the floor. (He had no dishes appropriate for animals, and assumed she would treat the plate respectfully.)

He read to her from the Daily Prophet . She listened rather attentively as he relayed the goings on. He passed on what Poppy had mentioned about Hogwarts. The lynx's eyes got … sad at the mention of the castle needing repairs. He knew the feeling. He noticed, too, she seemed … pleased to hear that Harry Potter might not court Ginevra Weasley after all. Severus was admittedly a little surprised at this turn of events, but wasn't sure how much stock he put into the reports. He'd believe it when he saw Harry Potter marry someone else.

He turned to his feline companion once the leftovers were put away until tomorrow and the dishes cleared from the table. And cleaned for the night. He had no idea what to do with her now that she was here.

"Television?"

She trotted after him into the living room and jumped up onto his sofa once he'd sat down. He pet her aimlessly as he flipped through the various channels to find something of interest to watch.

She gave a low growl that sounded very much like a warning when his fingers grazed over what was obviously a scar of some sort on her chest. His fingers stilled at the sound. Animagus or not, this was still a lynx. And that growl was definitely meant to stop him.

He moved his hand away from the spot on her chest that had caused the reaction. The growling stopped. He regarded her carefully. She didn't seem to be paying him any attention.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. He knew a wound or scar tissue when he felt it. She had little fur in the spot he'd just grazed compared to even just to the left or right of it.

She gave a yawn with a shake of her head, batting her ear (and thus his hand) with the pad of one of her paws.

"You do know I could assist if you are?" He presumed she was aware of who she was visiting. (Odd as he found it that anyone would choose to spend time with him.)

She gave a purr this time, resting her head against his thigh.

"All right. All right," he said, regarding the lynx curled up against him. It was the first time he'd been able to take her in. Usually, she had the advantage because she surprised him in bed. (And was it odd that weeks into this he had begun thinking of it as their bed versus his bed?)

There were things he wanted to know. Things he felt deep down he thought he deserved to know. There were things, too, he suspected having time to think over his conversation with Poppy. He knew asking her directly would not net him the answers he sought. If he was right.

"Do you go somewhere else during the day?" he asked.

Her constant purring with no change wasn't exactly an answer, but he guessed it wasn't a no.

"You stay around here?" He knew she wasn't staying at his home during the day.

"Meow," she replied.

"Why leave at all then?" he asked.

Clearly, he hadn't kicked her out yet. If he was going to, it would have been upon finding her in his bed that first night, not weeks later after, dare he think it, companionship was shared between them. He had no doubt she was getting something out of their togetherness, too. He should maybe feel bad for that, but he didn't. And didn't think that was wrong.

"If you are … looking for my permission, you can stay." A thought occurred to him. "Are you in trouble?" He thought over his conversation with Poppy. Nothing was mentioned about trouble or any former followers still on the hunt. (He was sure there were some.)

She gave a loud meow, her attempt at a roar he supposed. He knew lynxes didn't roar. He'd found it interesting that big cats like cheetahs couldn't. Until reading up on that, he'd just assumed they all did.

"So, not in trouble. Not hurt." He shifted a bit, fingertips grazing through the shaggy mane around her face. He rubbed the pads of his fingers along her cheeks, tugging on the fur there, which she seemed to like judging by her content-sounding purrs.

A thought occurred to him, however, he was no expert on lynxes. He was pretty sure he'd never seen one in person until this one started visiting him. It cemented his opinion that he was right in his thoughts on who this lynx might be.

Her mane was a little fuller than he'd seen depicted in photographs of the various forms of the animal over the years. He eyed the lighter patch of fur on her chest, without trying to touch it again. Was it truly possible this cat was the witch? It would seem based on her familiarity that she had a proclivity for cats.

However, if she was here versus with her friends there was likely a reason. He knew what it was like to have people ask questions you didn't want to answer. She probably had plenty of people wanting to ask her endless amounts of questions. So, he kept his mouth shut. If she needed time, he'd give it to her. He just wished he knew why she was here, with him.

"Have you eaten?" he asked. She said nothing, but pressed more intensely against his thigh. He took that as a yes. "I mean, I know you had dinner here tonight. I just meant, in general, when you're not here. Are you eating?"

One thing he did know from what Potter relayed during his visits, they'd practically starved during their months on the run. That meant, this witch, if she was Hermione Granger, wouldn't have much excess to be able to afford skipping meals. Never mind the nutritional needs that might not be getting met.

†††††

He woke up that night, knowing he'd had a nightmare. It wasn't his screams that woke him up from this one, though. The lynx was there, under the covers oddly licking his thigh with her coarse tongue.

Oddly because she'd never done that before.

Oddly because he liked it, coarse tongue or not.

Oddly because if this was who he thought it was. Why was she doing such a thing when she had a paramore? And yet, Poppy seemed to imply maybe they were not an item.

Still. Why would she go from Weasley to him?

He did notice with her by his side, his nightmares were not as graphic or disturbing. It was as if the warmth of the lynx pressed up against him as he slept slayed his nighttime demons.

She hesitated, sensing he'd woken up no doubt, but went back to licking his thigh when he didn't move or make any effort to stop her. He slid a hand to her head, petting her, his heart thudding a bit at the mewls he was on the receiving end of. Merlin help him, it felt good.

He gave a soft chuckle when she licked a spot just above his knee where he was (evidently) ticklish. Who knew? He'd never been … tickled before. How odd to think there were new things for him to experience.

Her head shot up, tongue lolling. Her eyes, hazel in this form, looked … scared. It was a little odd seeing that look from a predatory animal. It was also odd seeing it in those eyes, if his thoughts on who she was were correct. He wasn't sure he'd seen her frightened, other than the time after the Department of Mysteries.

He stroked her ears, grazing the corner of an eye with his thumb. That got her purring rather loudly. He took solace in that. That he caused that reaction in her.

"What are you scared of?" he asked softly. She nudged his thigh with her nose.

"Me?" That was … odd. She was choosing to come here. He hadn't absconded with her or prevented her from leaving.

She licked the spot again which caused him to give a chuckle that sounded a bit like a hiss. He wasn't sure if it was the spot. Her tongue. Or a combination. He had no idea.

She brushed her head against his side then and he realized - guessed - what she was getting at.

"My laugh?"

She nodded, turning a bit waving her paw in the air.

"Yes, well, I haven't had much cause to laugh the past few years." He sighed then. "Most of my life, truth be told."

He found her mane and chuckled again as he ran his fingers through it.

"You haven't either of late, have you?"

She shook her head with a low growl.

"But you are not hurt? You aren't stuck?"

There was a possibility he hadn't thought of until tonight. That she was in this form and couldn't change back to her human self.

She shook her head.

"Hiding isn't going to help, you know. The … issues, whatever they are, will still be there." He reached lower, mindful of her reaction to his inadvertently touching it last evening. "This will still be there," he said, finding the top of the scar and sliding his fingers along the spot and the light patch of fur there. It was thinner in this spot, too.

She gave a low growl and he drew the covers away from them. Was this why she'd been … drawn to him? If she thought he would recoil or get frightened off by her scars, she was sorely mistaken.

"Shall we compare?"

He sat up, moving to the side of the bed so his feet were on the floor. And his back was to her. He wasn't sure he could go through with this if he was facing her. He shed his nightshirt then. Maybe he should be embarrassed doing so, whether this witch was Hermione Granger or not. He was still essentially undressing in front of her unbidden. He couldn't find it in him to feel that at this moment.

Silence.

He felt her shift on the bed behind him, though.

"It's hideous, isn't it?" he murmured. He hadn't looked at his back in years. He didn't need to to know it was not pretty.

The soft mewl was unlike any sound she'd emitted before, so he wasn't sure how to interpret it. He kept his back to her, refusing to look at her. To see the … distaste registered in her eyes even in this form. He was pretty sure it would be his undoing. He'd never exposed himself like this to anyone.

He wasn't even sure why he was now!

So when he felt the soft hair of what had to be her mane - a mane that gave him reason to think he was correct thinking this was Hermione Granger - pressing against his back he was … surprised enough to give a soft gasp. Her coarse tongue followed suit, traveling the path of scars along the length of his back from shoulder to his arse and up again, until she gave a gentle lap at the scars on his neck. He shuddered.

"Is this a joke?" he asked. He had to ask, because for someone like him who'd never been on the receiving end of … positive attention. Well, he had no idea how to react. Or what to feel. Or how to know how to react. The … excitement coursing through him at her attention was no doubt wrong. And unwelcome. 

She batted his arm away when he tried to hide the evidence that her ministrations excited him. Gracefully, she jumped off the bed and paced back and forth a few times before stopping in front of him.

She slid the side of her face against his erection, stopping for a moment to lick his abdomen with that tongue of hers. Returning her attentions to his erection, she rubbed against it to the point he was pretty sure he'd be in pain for a while if he didn't finish.

"You should go now. I need to," he said hoarsely. She rubbed her head against his thigh with a low growl before licking him right where his thigh and groin met through the material of his boxers. Was she implying what it seemed she was? She wanted him to? She couldn't possibly!

"I should not," he murmured and she gave another low growl, batting his hand with her head and ears.

"Fuck," he whispered, knowing this was not right, even as he slid his hand inside of his boxers to reach for his erection. This was met with content-sounding purrs as she tugged on the waist of his boxers with her teeth. He huffed, lowering them so his hard on sprang free and she lapped lightly along his base, seemingly mindful of the fact a coarse tongue in this delicate of an area may not be entirely welcome.

He slid his free hand along her fur, running his fingers through the bushy mane that made him think he was right in who this witch was. His eyes were tightly closed as he let the feel of her tongue and fur brushing against him as his hand slid along his length wash over him.

He groaned through clenched teeth as he finished, his hand coated with his seed, which she licked clean, giving more content sounding purrs.

"What was that?" he asked when he had the wherewithal to realize he'd just masturbated in front of someone who, to this point, had not revealed her true self to him.

"If you think my, limited as it is, hospitality requires such a …"

She gave a low growl.

"Just ensuring that you do not feel … obligated."

†††††

She was a frisky witch/lynx. After that first time, she never allowed him to get up in the mornings without having taken care of his erection. Sometimes she merely … watched … as he pleasured himself. Sometimes she assisted with her fur or her tongue. Or both. She rarely allowed him to go to sleep without causing an erection that he had to take care of.

He'd never had regular orgasms before to understand the appeal wizards like Lucius had in marrying. He rather understood it now, though he knew he had much to experience and learn yet.

†††††

It was one day when she'd come in while he was eating dinner and he offered her some of the turkey that was part of his meal for the night that he broached … this . (Was it odd that he thought of what to make for his evening meals around whether she might be there to eat? He didn't think so.) He'd filled her in on the latest magical world gossip. He knew her tells by now when he touched on stories about Ronald Weasley or Harry Potter, or any of her friends, to be fairly certain he was correct in his assumptions as to her identity.

"Come here," he said, walking to the living room once she had finished eating. He took a seat on the floor in front of the sofa, patting the spot beside him. "Please sit," he whispered.

She gave a low growl.

"I know that you are not a dog. Obviously," he hissed. "I'm asking you to sit. I even said please."

She did as he requested. He started at her head, petting and touching her lightly, familiarizing himself more with the feel of her under his fingertips. Slowly, he worked his way to the white fur on her chest. She got a scared look in her eyes the closer he got to the scarring, and he felt her tense up, clearly wanting to draw away.

"Why is it all right for you to see my scars? To touch and lick them, but I cannot see yours even while in this form?"

Her eyes went from scared to wounded in a heartbeat, as if he'd flipped a switch.

"You do not find mine unappealing?" he asked. It was more a statement than a question, but he found it hard to believe it was true. Thus the querying tone. She had demonstrated, though, that they did not bother him. He hadn't slept with his nightshirt on in weeks.

She licked his cheek and he shook his head.

"So, why do you think…"

She backed away then, cowering.

"All right. Someone obviously said something negative about them. About you having them." He could guess who, too, suspecting who this witch was. "Come back," he said. It took her a minute, uncertain steps taken with those large paws until she was in front of him again.

"I suspect I know who you are," he said, finally as he grazed the scar in question again. She mewled. "I've suspected for some time. Poppy mentioned you were missing. If Ronald Weasley, or any wizard, made you feel less than because of your scars, that is their problem. Not yours."

He grazed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Your mane. That's your distinguishing feature, is it not? The scar is just happenstance."

She meowed. He took that as acknowledgement.

"Where do you go when you leave here? It's obviously not Mr. Potter's home? Or rather, I suppose, the Black home?"

She drew away from him again, and he scowled a bit. Until she trotted to his bookshelves.

"Is that your answer?" he asked with a frown. "Hermione? May I call you that?"

She glanced at him, licking her lips with a nod and he chuckled.

"You go to a library?" he asked, her "answer" suddenly making sense.

She nodded with a mewl. She was gone for hours at a time. Sometimes, not so much recently, she was gone before he woke in the mornings. What did she do at a library for hours on end? Surely, even she would find that tiresome.

And then a thought occurred to him. He'd listened as Potter told him ad nauseam about their experience hunting during Severus' time convalescing at St. Mungos. He hadn't always paid close attention, but he was attentive enough.

"Do you have … funds to do other things?"

She shook her head.

"Hermione," he whispered.

He stood then, closing the distance between them, kneeling in front of her.

"What did he do to you?"

She shook her head and he sighed. "Have you showered in your human form?"

She shook her head. She … smelled fine, so he took that to mean she had bathed or something somehow since the war's end.

"Would you like to?"

She nodded and he chuckled. "Why don't you go upstairs and do that then. I will follow you, only to lay some … clothes out on my bed. I trust you can adjust them as needed. Take a bath, take your time. I will guarantee you as much privacy as you require."

She set one of her large paws on a knee, licking his face.

"Thank you. Now, if you wish to come downstairs when you've finished as the witch version of you, I won't deny an evening of conversation would be welcome."

She looked … sheepish for lack of a better word. He wasn't overly familiar with cats. "What?"

She moved her paw to the front of his pants. "I said conversation. I can admit those events have been pleasing, but that is not what I'm asking, or expecting, of you."

He slid his hands to either side of her face, fingers sinking into that mane. "You did initiate that. You remember that, right?"

She butted her head against his and he huffed.

"I've probably done that more in the past few weeks than I had for years prior." He'd never had someone to … lick him clean before either.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head.

"Lying about that would get me what?" he asked. "If you come down in this form, fine. If you come down in your Hermione form, fine. There is no expectation. Do we understand one another?"

He released her then and stood, leading the way upstairs. She went to the bathroom while he went to his old bedroom. There he still had a few things from when he was younger. Things he just hadn't gotten rid of for whatever reason. No time. Not wanting to take the time.

He left a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt on his bed before making his way downstairs again.

He was silent when a witch joined him in the living room about ninety minutes later.

"Better?" he asked finally, when she said nothing. He assumed with as long as she took that she … enjoyed the self-pampering.

She nodded.

"I think my shirt looks much better on you than it ever looked on me," he murmured and she blushed, tucking some of that unruly hair behind her ear.

"It looks old," she said softly, tugging a bit on the hem of the shirt.

It was your typical flannel shirt, but did betray its age. He'd worn it, Merlin, when he was maybe her age over his T-shirts so that his parents wouldn't see his Dark Mark. His father wouldn't have known what it was, but his mother would have.

"It is. Older than you, I believe."

She ducked her head. "Um," she said. "I can…"

"Stay."

"I…" She opened her mouth and closed it, as if not sure what to say.

"Severus. You've seen me naked, I think my first name is more than adequate."

He gave a soft chuckle at her blush.

"In the event when we wake up in the morning, if you've returned to your lynx form. Or you leave before I'm awake, I suppose." He wasn't sure what she was going to do. "I will leave some money on the kitchen table."

"Oh, I can't accept…"

"I'm offering. You didn't ask."

He stood from the sofa then, walking toward her. He cupped her cheek, grazing it with his thumb much as he'd done several times in her other form. "It is odd to touch you without the mane there."

"When did you figure it out?" This was asked as she pressed her cheek into the palm of his hand. Much like she did in her lynx form.

"It's been weeks. I assumed you had your reasons. I didn't know for certain, but surmised based on your mane. I've never seen a live lynx before, but have seen enough pictures to know your mane was … unusual. The scar," he said softly. She started to draw away then.

"Ah ah. Do you need me to show you mine again?"

She shook her head. She was clearly embarrassed.

"I helped heal the wound, so I am familiar with the shape, pattern, and size of it. Your fur around it is also different then the rest on your torso."

"Oh," she said.

He leaned in then, lowering his mouth to hers. He was slow about it, giving her the chance to tell him no or to draw away. Considering they'd been more intimate than this - in a roundabout way - he hoped she wouldn't.

She gasped when his mouth finally closed over hers and he took advantage of her lips parting, sliding his tongue along her lower lip. He was no expert at this, but she didn't seem as if she minded or thought he was doing this wrong.

He drew away, kissing the top of her head as she stepped closer against him.

"Ron didn't like it."

"Yes, well, Ronald Weasley is an imbecile."

"I'm not surprised you'd say that."

"Nor am I, however. Jesting aside. Let me be clear. You survived, Hermione. If that spell had been aimed at him or Potter, they'd be dead. I wager actually any of the others there that night would be dead. Have you stopped to realize that? You acted quickly enough to lessen the spell's effects."

"Why are you being nice to me?"

"You helped me."

"I didn't do anything."

"Oh, but you did. I have never really been shown kindness or comfort. You have offered me both."

He ran his thumb along her lower lip. "I could ask you the same question. You knew without a doubt who I was, and you kept coming here. You kept sleeping with me."

"You felt safe."

He slid his arms around her then. "I'm not sure that you need anyone to make you feel safe, Hermione, but I understand the feeling. You made me feel safe, too. Mentally. Your warmth has helped keep the nightmares somewhat at bay."

She nodded, as if she was glad that he understood what she meant. She knew, physically, she was safe now. However, seven years of living on edge and avoiding death takes their toll on a person.

"How hard was that to admit?"

"Well, I get the Daily Prophet and you haven't gone to anyone saying that I'm a perverted man who gets off while a cat licks him. So, you know, it seems I can trust you."

She snorted softly, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her head against his chest.

"I have nowhere. Nothing. Harry's house, but it's not my house. I don't know what to do. Ron seems to think because we kissed the day of the final battle that we're going to get married and have a dozen babies. Yet he finds me hideous. I can't reconcile that. How will that lead to a happy future? I don't even know what I want to do with my future. University seems likely. I was trying to take time to figure it out. My parents are in Australia, and I'm petrified that if I am able to return their memories to them that they'll hate me and never forgive me for what I did."

"Possible, however, they are your parents. You are a pretty rational person, and I suspect they are, too. Which means that initially they may react poorly, but I suspect ultimately they would come around."

"I'd hate someone toying with my mind, Severus."

"As would I," he said. "Again, I imagine they could initially react poorly. When you're ready, given it seems you have nothing but time for the moment."

"I don't."

"Ironically, I don't either. I am also trying to decide what to do with my future. So, when you're ready, you can show me what you did and we will work out how to return their memories."

"We?"

"Yes, my occlumency skills could come in handy."

"Among other things."

"Yes."

She gripped him even tighter and he did the same. He had never just stood and held and been held by someone in his life.

"Ronald said other things?"

She shrugged. "Not really. Just between his comments on my scar and the fact he left us."

"Harry mentioned that, yes."

He slid one hand out from around her, waving it so that a few of the buttons on the shirt she wore came undone. He brought his thumb to the top of her scar before bending over a bit so that he could kiss the same spot. He wasn't trying to be … suggestive necessarily.

She shrugged her shoulders a bit, which caused the shirt to part more and he used a hand to cup her other breast. She gave a soft hiss and he drew away from the scar.

"Does that hurt?" he asked. He didn't think he was hurting her, but he knew his hands were rather rough and calloused from years of using them.

"No, it just feels very different skin to skin."

"Mm," he said with a nod.

She stepped back a little and he hoped he hadn't erred. He'd assured her he wasn't asking her to come down here as Hermione to make a move on her.

She dropped her hand in his, squeezing it.

"Can we see how you sleep when I'm like this?"

"Are you going to take up as much of the bed as you do in your lynx form?"

She gave a soft laugh. "You never told me to leave. In fact, you only had my word for it that first night I wasn't there to harm you."

"It was your eyes."

She bit her lower lip and looked at him, looking away quickly with a blush on her cheeks.

"What?" he asked.

"Maybe I can come up with a better way to wake you up."

He snorted softly. "I've wagered no complaints, odd though it might be."

She reached up on her tiptoes, finding his ear. "I'm curious to see if you'll taste different."

It was his turn to blush, clearing his throat softly. "Yes, well, if not tomorrow, one day I'm sure."

"You're sure?"

"Well, I'd hate to prevent you from getting the answer you seek."

†††††

She did get the answer she sought the next morning, and he was pretty sure she was on the same page as he was that she wouldn't be finding out what anyone else tasted like as long as he had breath in his body.

†††††

He knew she was on her way to … accepting not only who she was, scars and all, but that he found her lovely as she was. All of her. The same as he was about her when he offered to join her in the bath one evening before bed and she said yes.

The nightmares were few and far between anymore. She was no longer responsible for that. Well, not directly. For the first time in his life, he had the opposite of nightmarish fodder to fill his dreams with. Not to say that one didn't still creep in now and again. He imagined they always would. However, these days, all he had to do was turn into her warmth, surround himself with her scent, and it was quickly replaced with other, better, dare he say - hopeful - things.

He no longer had anything to fear from the moon and darkness that nighttime brought.

~The End~

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com